Harry Potter and the Curse of the Sorcerer's Stone
by Casual Social Suicide
Summary: What if things go wrong from the very beginning? Harry fails to stop Quirrell from acquiring the Sorcerer's Stone, causing a chain of events which will change Harry's life forever. Summary updates will appear as the story progresses.
1. Chapter 1

--Harry Potter and the Curse of the Sorcerer's Stone--

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. But somehow I suspect Harry prefers it that way.

Summary: Things go differently when Harry tries to stop Quirrell from acquiring the Sorcerer's Stone, causing a chain of events which will change Harry's life forever. WIP.

Spoilers: All books, eventually

Notes: AU. Splits off from canon at the end of SS chapter 16. Some portions (mostly dialogue) from SS used in the first chapter; other dialogue may be used later.

* * *

It was indeed as though ice was flooding his body. He put the bottle down and walked forward; he braced himself, saw the black flames licking his body, but couldn't feel them -- for the moment he could see nothing but dark fire -- then he was on the other side, in the last chamber.

There was already someone there -- but it wasn't Snape. It wasn't even Voldemort.

It was Quirrell.

"You!" gasped Harry.

"Oh yes," said Quirrell, without a hint of his previous stammer. "I'd wondered if I might be meeting you here."

"But I'd thought…Snape…"

"Severus?" Quirrell laughed, not sounding the slightest bit uncertain, but suddenly cold and sharp. "Convenient enough that he already seems the type, always skulking around. With all that, who would ever suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"

Harry couldn't believe this. This just couldn't be true. It couldn't!

"But Snape, he tried to kill me!"

"No, I'm afraid I was the one who tried to kill you. Your friend Miss Granger managed to accidentally knock me over when she was rushing to stop Snape at that Quidditch match, breaking my eye contact with you. Another few seconds and you'd have fallen off that broom. And you wouldn't even be here now if Snape hadn't been trying to stop me with a countercurse. "

"Wait, so Snape was trying to save me?

"Of course," said Quirrell coolly. "Why else, then would he want to referee your next match? He wanted to make sure I didn't do it again. Funny, really…he needn't have bothered. I couldn't do anything with Dumbledore around, anyway. All the other teachers were convinced, after all, thought Snape was trying to stop Gryffindor from winning, so he only made himself unpopular…what a waste of time, since after all of that, I'm still giving you over to Voldemort tonight."

Harry felt a growing sense of horror as Quirrell cast some sort of curse he didn't recognise, and felt immediately queasy when it seemed that the walls around him seemed to melt and blur. A strong set of hands pushed him down by the shoulders, leaving him sitting on a set of stone steps.

"You're too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school on Halloween like that, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to find out what was guarding the Stone. "

"Wait…th' troll, that's you?" Harry tried to respond, but he was beginning to have some trouble getting sentences to come out properly.

"Well certainly," replied Quirrell hastily. "I have a special gift with trolls—but that's besides the point now. Why don't you just wait there quietly for a moment, Potter; I need to examine this interesting mirror."

With growing (if muddled) alarm, Harry realised what was standing behind Quirrell. It was the Mirror of Erised.

"Now, this mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell murmured, mostly to himself, while tapping his way around the frame. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this… But as he's in London, everything will be over with by the time he gets back…"

Quirrell stood in front of the mirror and stared hungrily at it. "I see the Stone…I'm presenting it to my master…but where is it?"

Harry gave a low moan of despair and struggled some more words out, in the dim hope that he could distract Quirrell. "What d'you want th' stone for then?"

Quirrell turned back towards him with eyes shining bright with fanaticism. "The Dark Lord is with me wherever I go," he mused quietly. "I met him when I travelled around the world. What a foolish young man I was then, with ridiculous ideas about good and evil. But Lord Voldemort taught me how wrong I was. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it… Since then, I have served him and that power within him, faithfully. But I…made mistakes, and failed him. He punished me…decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me…"

Harry's thoughts wandered, remembering his first visit to Diagon Alley… How could he not have known? He'd even seen and met Quirrell that very day, shaking his hand in the Leaky Cauldron.

Frustrated, Quirrell cursed under his breath. "I don't understand it. Is the stone inside the mirror? Do I need to break it? " He looked over to Harry, hoping for a glimpse of inspiration, but the boy's face was already going slack—a sign of the jelly-brain curse he'd cast earlier.

Harry was still aware of enough to notice Quirrell looking at him piercingly, while mumbling, "I won't be able to get it like this. What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

And to Harry's horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself.

"Use the boy…Use the boy…"

Quirrell turned around towards Harry, squeezing his hands together while looking back and forth from the boy to the mirror. "What if…" he found himself grinning slyly, "I had the help of an innocent…"

He walked over to Harry, still sitting placidly on the stone steps, and pulled on his arm until he rose. Clasping his own hand over the boy's, he crossed back over to the mirror.

"Here, Harry," coaxed Quirrell. "Why don't you have a look in this mirror and tell me what you see…"

Harry's own mind was screaming in terror, but in some dark, quiet, closed-off place... He saw himself, briefly, in front of the mirror, then squinted his eyes shut.

_I wish this was over, I just wish this could be over. _

When he reopened his eyes, he saw himself again staring at his reflection in the mirror—small, pale, and scared-looking. But then suddenly, the image of himself in the mirror flickered and he then saw only Quirrell, who had been standing behind him.

"Well?" said Quirrell impatiently, "What did you see?"

Harry turned back around towards the man, quietly terrified. Through the layers of confusion brought about by Quirrell's curse, he had the growing realisation of the Stone's weight within his own, real, pocket. But he was powerless to prevent Quirrell from finding out; he felt like a three-year-old trying to keep a secret.

Quirrell frowned at the addle-headed boy in front of him, shoving him roughly aside. The small part of Harry's mind that still had a fix on what was going on thought he might just have a chance, after all….

But it was only a second later when a high clear voice sounded; though Quirrell wasn't moving his lips.

"The boy…the boy…Let me speak to him…face to face…"

"Master…you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough…for this…"

Still trapped by the Jelly-Brain curse, Harry hadn't moved from where Quirrell had pushed him away a minute ago. He felt a hand grab his shoulder and turn his body so he faced back at Quirrell. He watched dumbly as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. What was going on? The turban fell away, and Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned around slowly on the spot.

If Harry had been capable, he would have screamed, but he just stood there and gawped. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most terrible face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.

"Harry Potter…" it whispered. "See what I have become? Just shadow and vapour. I can assume form only when I share the body of another. There have always, of course, been those who were willing to allow me into their hearts and minds...Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks…Quirrell here has gathered it for me in the forest. And with the Sorcerer's Stone, I can acquire a body for myself on a more…permanent basis."

Was this what Quirrell had been up to all along? Harry tried to summon all the strength he could, managing a stumbling step backwards.

"Don't be a fool," snarled the face. "Better save your own life and join me…or you'll meet the same end as your parents…They died begging me for mercy…"

"Liar…" Harry managed to croak weakly, as he sank to his knees, whimpering.

Quirrell walked backward towards Harry so that Voldemort could still see him. The evil face had a grin of triumph.

"It's a pity, you know," the face hissed. "I'd always thought this would have been more difficult, getting the Stone. I think you ought to hand it over to me now- it isn't safe there in your pocket."

Harry was having trouble following what was going on by now, but was still trying to scoot away from Quirrell. He was aware, though, of the man suddenly spinning around with his wand at the ready…

"Stupefy!" shouted Quirrell.

There was a flash of white light, and he felt the hands and arms of the other man on him, but for a while, no more.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the Gryffindor common room:

Neville had been stuck in the body-bind curse for the whole night. Things had been mostly uneventful, but he now had a serious understanding for what it might be like to be a suit of armor. He had mostly spent the hours lying on the floor staring at the cold fireplace. He had counted the number of stones, and memorised the pattern of the embers, but mostly he had simply let his mind wander. He had only been interrupted once –by the appearance of Peeves, (the one time he'd been grateful to see the poltergeist), but it seemed he himself hadn't been noticed.

Only when the room was just beginning to lighten with the first hints of the upcoming sunrise did things begin to liven up. He began to catch sight of pairs of legs, as they walked past, some distance away, but they were few and far between. Trevor, his toad, had also made a brief appearance as he hopped past his face.

Somehow, with the year having gone like it did for him, he'd become a bit resigned to things like this happening…he'd always been prone to accidents, but it was awkward being wedged like this, on the floor by the grandfather clock. Neville had started to think that he might just end up stuck here until the end of term, when he'd be found as they cleaned up, then marked down as a squib, and finally, sent home, no special handling. He'd actually begun resigning himself to this sad fate until...

They walked down the stairs together, shoeless, half-asleep and still in their pajamas, red hair in clumps and still tousled from their pillows. Their eyes were still a little crusty but they grinned at each other when they weren't grumbling.

"Stupid Percy!"

"Blithering git! Says prefects should get the first shower, does he? Even when he isn't even awake yet!"

"Oh yes, and such a prefect, too."

"Mummy's favourite little badge-polisher.."

"We'll be sure to show him where being a prat is bound to get him, wouldn't you say, dear George…."

The twins made their way down the stairs into the common room, having decided it was likely best to stay quiet before everyone woke up. Still oblivious, they made their way towards Neville and the grandfather clock behind him, until George suddenly tripped.

"Ow! Who left a log here?"

"Aha, my dear brother, but that's no log, It's an ickle firstie!" Fred gave a grin to his brother.

George straightened himself up somewhat, and nudged the boy with his foot. "My, but that looks uncomfortable…"

Fred scratched his head. "Wait, I know this firstie!"

"Well you should have at least seen him around before. After all, he seems to be a Gryffindor."

"No no, remember, this is ickle Neville! Remember, he's that one who.."

George suddenly remembered. "Oh wait, was that the time when Filch caught us…?"

"Yes! And we got off the hock because of that explosion in the hallway!"

"So that means we owe you, young Neville!"

Fred gave a smirky little grin. "So then, dear Neville, how did you, our new firstie friend, wind up like this?"

"He can't answer you, o brother of mine – He's frozen."

"I know that, o mine brother. Of course."

"Then, why are you trying to talk to him?"

"It's called a rhetorical question." Fred waved his arms around theatrically as he spoke. "It doesn't need an answer. That's why it's fun!"

George shook his head. "You've been talking to the Ravenclaws far too much, dear Fred."

Neville sincerely hoped that all of this wasn't just for his benefit. He was mortified to be found like this by anybody….especially by anybody he knew. But being found by the two worst gossips in Hogwarts….

"Now then, young Neville…."

"--He still can't answer you…"

"We're actually here today.." Fred's eye had a wicked glint in it, "on business."

"But we," said George, "will happily take time out of what promises to be a busy morning," He gave a grin back. "--since you're such a dear friend after all, to help you out." He nonchalantly flicked his wand at Neville as he said, almost as an afterthought ' finite incantatem.'

Meanwhile, Fred tapped the tip of his wand against the clock cabinet door to reveal a hidden slide-out tray bearing a dizzying array of items Neville mostly didn't recognise--but some of them he was quite sure were strictly banned at Hogwarts. George caught Neville's eye in his as he was glancing back at Fred, who was happily tossing certain items into a suddenly-appearing moleskin pouch. As his body started to loosen up, he began to shiver uncontrollably.

George, leaning back against the wall, gave a offhand look towards Neville, who was still lying on the floor, shivering. "That would be your body, coming on out of it. It's got to make up for not shivering through the whole night, I think."

"Yeah, remember, Great Aunt Muriel used to cast it on Great-Uncle, overnight so he wouldn't snore, remember?" remembered Fred, still busy going through their stash.

"And you should have heard the racket once she dispelled it in the mornings!"

"Anyway…" Fred was finishing up, and gave a quick, concerned-looking glance over at George.

George tossed a ragged-looking blanket that wrapped itself around Neville. It was scratchy, and smelled a bit like wet dog, but at least it was warm. He still couldn't stop shivering, though. And it was getting a bit hard to concentrate.

Fred nodded his head towards Neville. "Quickly now, we need to heat things up."

His brother looked around the room, first being tempted as his wand alighted on the still-open clock, and then the couch nearby, but decided it would be best to go with the easiest solution. He simply murmured 'incendio' and flicked his wand at the cold fireplace.

Together, they carried the somewhat-conscious Neville towards it, who slowly began recovering his color, and started once again to look like he belonged among the living. He was finally sitting up, only a little bit groggily, about ten minutes later.

The sounds around the three of them had begun to rise in volume, but it was only when a fourth-year boy came down the staircase into the common room did Fred and George realise how late it had become. Without a word, George made his way over to the open clock, somehow managing to appear entirely unsuspicious as he whispered some secret incantation to hide their supply of contraband. Meanwhile, Fred dragged Neville off to a coat closet underneath the stairs, and somehow, into a small room which he'd never seen before. It was ancient and seemed carved out of stone.

"I know what you're thinking," whispered Fred to Neville, and holding up a finger, "You had no idea there was an extra room back here. But stay quiet a second…"

George appeared just a moment later.

"All clear, dear Forge?"

"All clear, dear Gred."

As soon as everyone was inside, there came a grinding noise as the room apparently sealed itself off, leaving it suddenly very dark. One of the twins (Neville couldn't tell who, especially not in the dark) lit up an old-fashioned lantern on the wall, and they relaxed again. They sat down on opposite stone benches—Neville found himself facing identical grins...and he wasn't sure he liked the looks in their eyes...

"Now Neville..."

"Yes, Neville..."

"We were happy to help you..."

"But we wouldn't have wanted you to find out so many of our secrets."

"However, I'm afraid you have."

Neville felt his throat growing tight in fear.

"So what we'll be doing here is..."

"Making sure you won't remember it well enough to tell anyone."

Neville gasped. "Please! I'll do anything! I can't manage remember anything as it is!"

George (or was it Fred? He was too scared to concentrate.) raised an eyebrow. "Anything?"

He shrugged like he'd been planning for this all along.

Fred continued instead, improvising. "Well, in that case, I suppose we have no other choice. You'll just have to...go along with us."

Neville felt himself calming back down, if only slightly.

"You'll just have to be our bitch."

Fred elbowed his brother and shot a quick glare at him. "Ah...what we really mean is...our lackey." He flashed precisely the sort of grin that Neville had already learned to be terrified of.

What had he gotten himself into?

* * *

Harry was aware again of light—a steady stream of bright light. Somehow, he couldn't quite recall how he'd gotten here, wherever this was, and he hurt all over. He opened his eyes to see the blurry outline of a window showing the midmorning sun.

With a slow realisation of increasing horror, he stirred himself into facing the other direction only to realise that he was lying in bed in the infirmary. He turned his head only to see Madam Pomfrey disappear around a corner. A weighty sigh distracted his attention towards a chair across from the foot of his bed.

"Oh my boy, my poor boy," sighed a bearded shape sitting alongside the wall. "Go ahead," he spoke as he motioned, "you can put your glasses back on; they're waiting for you on the windowsill."

Harry did so, and was alarmed at the look on Dumbledore's face. Normally unflappable, the characteristic bit of sparkle was gone from his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but was suddenly aware of an intense pain in his throat and chest.

"No Harry, you won't be able to speak for awhile, so let me, instead." Dumbledore lost a little bit more of his composure in that instant. "Harry, we almost lost you—it was only a matter of a few minutes..."

_But the Stone, where's the Stone? _

A somber look from Dumbledore made him realise what had happened. "Once we'd made it past the enchantments, which  
were, of course, intended to protect the Stone—oh, don't stare at me like that, Harry, I haven't read your mind, I can read it on your face—and taken down the door, we were in time only to see Quirrell bending over your body. He escaped on the back of a broom, I'm afraid. The Stone was nowhere to be found."

Harry covered his eyes with his hands. Dumbledore continued speaking, almost absentmindedly, in this new, more direct fashion which he was beginning to find unsettling.

"So the worst has come to pass. I never would have thought that one of our own, a professor of Hogwarts, no less, could betray us in such a way. But at least we managed to save you, Harry," Dumbledore patted the bedpost.

Harry wanted to tell him-- no, to shout to the Headmaster about what had happened with Quirrell, but again found his throat wouldn't let him. A corner of the room darkened as someone stood in front of a wall sconce.

"Now Harry, this is important," continued Dumbledore with renewed urgency. "It is vital that you listen to me. We know that you were placed under the jelly-brain curse as Quirrell stole the Stone, so you may not recall much, but it is imperative that your fellow students at must not learn about the events of that night. "

Harry would have wanted to argue about that, but Madam Pomfrey seemed to have suddenly appeared at his bedside. Wordlessly, she gave the boy a gentle push back down into his bed, and forced some sort of viscous liquid down his throat that instantly stilled the rebellion inside, and made everything go numb.

The world would have to wait.

* * *

So then, everybody, this is my first attempt at a longform HP fic, so any reviews, comments, or feedback are greatly appreciated! Future chapters will not have nearly as much content reproduced in the fic- this was mostly used to provide the exact timeline as well as a few comparisons... Anyway, thanks for reading, and especially thanks to GrasshopperKnight for being my beta!

Edited 06/24/08 for typesetting.


	2. Chapter 2: The Waiting Game

* * *

Disclaimer: _I still don't own Harry Potter, his friends, or his enemies. But if I did, I wouldn't have to worry about student loans. Harry's probably better off without me anyway. Any OC's I've created are mine, of course. _

* * *

Chapter II: The Waiting Game

Hermione was worried. She and Ron had gone on together along with Harry Potter the night before in an attempt to prevent Professor Snape from stealing the Sorcerer's Stone. Together, they had followed him through all manner of obstacles, only to wind up balked by the trials, leaving Harry alone to confront Snape in that last room.

A couple of hours had passed since she had seen him pass through the flame barrier, and she was surprised to see a group of professors rushing their way past her in a great commotion, having apparently made their own ways through the trials. But she was truly shocked at the presence of Snape, who ran headlong past her, robes flapping behind him like a mad bat through the corridor. He hadn't even stopped for a snide remark, or to berate her while she simply stood there with her mouth gaping open. Hermione couldn't help but be curious, even as she feared quietly for Harry's safety, and remained close to the wall next to the space where the flame barrier had once been.

Yet her patience went unrewarded. It had proved nearly impossible to hear anything from her position, but once she thought she might have heard the sounds of a confrontation, and perhaps even spells being cast. But after that, she thought, things became worryingly quiet. Hermione was about to venture into the passageway herself to find out for sure, when Professor Sprout, looking careworn and a bit upset, came up from the stairs. She felt herself crumple a little inside as the professor laid a comforting arm across her shoulders and they turned away from the passage.

"Come along now, dear, you shouldn't be here for this..."

She allowed herself to be led along by the shoulder, hardly conscious of her own movement, towards the Gryffindor common room. The last thing she could really remember from the end of that night had been herself, crying, while standing in front of the Fat Lady's portrait trying to choke out the day's password.

* * *

Hermione awoke the following afternoon in her own bed, with an unfamiliar and sleepy-looking owl awaiting her attention while it sat stolidly on the bedside table. Nearby was an unassuming-looking glass. Not sure what to expect, she pulled the scrap of parchment from the proffered leg and began to read:

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_You need to speak with me in regards to the issues concerning your adventures during the previous evening. You are requested to meet me in my office as soon as you are able. I would advise you to be certain to drink from the glass that's been left out for you; one might welcome a cheering draught considering recent events._

_ -Prof. McGonagall_

As she looked up from the message, Hermione spied the tail end of the owl as it sailed out of the room. She considered the glass only briefly before downing the peppermint-flavoured drink and glancing around at the dormitory. The rooms seemed to be oddly quiet this evening, she thought. The other girls were only just beginning to pack up their things for the end of the year, a process she had already begun even before she'd left to join the boys the night before. This left her largely alone while they either took care of matters or strolled through the grounds, but she was, for once, glad to be left alone and out of attention. She freshened herself up and set off to visit Professor McGonagall.

* * *

Hermione found the door ajar when she tried to knock. She had been to visit the transfiguration professor before and enjoyed the décor of her office. It was tastefully decorated, with tartan patterns and Gryffindor regalia dominating. She found her eyes being drawn past some old photographs and towards a bookcase. And it was there that she found herself some time later, still inspecting the books, happily engrossed, when interrupted by someone clearing their throat a short distance behind her. She gave a little squeak of surprise and spun around.

"Professor McGonagall!"

The professor gave a patrician gaze down at the girl, who blushed slightly. At that, even McGonagall had to soften a bit, and she sat behind her desk, motioning Hermione to come closer.

"Please, Miss Granger. Do have a seat."

Hermione seated herself in a small wooden chair facing the corner of the professor's desk.

"Despite how I may have been informed by certain professors, it is clear enough to me that the motives behind the recent activities of you and Misters Weasley and Potter are quite self-evident, regardless of what others may believe."

She wrinkled her nose a bit at this.

"That being said, though the actions performed by the three of you were highly irresponsible, you have all, without a doubt, displayed the characteristics of true Gryffindors, even if the application of your efforts has gone awry."

Hermione was rapt in attention.

"However, those may be the only kind words you will hear on the subject. Especially considering something that you may or may not have yet realized--that is, the extent which these consequences have been brought to affect the Gryffindor House point totals." Here, she trailed off for a moment, gazed out the window, and gave a brief, unhappy sigh. She then turned back and allowed herself a rare smile at the nervous bushy-haired girl facing her. "Hermione, you must do your best not to pay any attention to the unkind things that may be said due to this, and to remember that others cannot belittle you without your consent. A true Gryffindor should remain unflappable in the face of adversity."

She tried to offer up a small smile in return to McGonagall at the encouraging remarks, only to see a stern look cross the woman's face between sips of tea.

"Of course it also means, Miss Granger, that you must still endure the consequences of your actions."

Hermione's face fell.

"In light of that, it seems that, due to particular circumstances, in order for me to properly finish my preparations for the end of term, I may be requiring an extra pair of hands." Here, she motioned for the girl to stand. "Normally I'd have one of the fifth-years aid me with something like this task, but do you think you might wish to assist me?"

Hermione nodded emphatically. "Of course, Professor McGonagall!"

"Splendid. Beginning this evening, for every day until the end of term, I will expect to find you waiting for me in the transfiguration classroom at eight o'clock, to serve for your detention."

"Detention?"

* * *

The next few hours following Hermione's meeting with Professor McGonagall would pass in excruciating slowness. In the Great Hall, she studiously avoided making a direct glance at the hourglass jewels on the wall. All around her, dinner seemed to be a boisterous affair--but she hadn't anticipated how lonely the table could seem without Ron, who was evidently yet to be released from the infirmary, or Harry, whose status apparently remained, as of yet, a closely guarded secret.

She watched the commotion at the other end of the table in muted amusement, where the Weasley twins, along with Seamus (...and was that _Neville_?) were having an energetic and expansive discussion as they attempted to animate a small man-shaped lumpen figure that appeared to be composed mostly of mashed potatoes. The boys grew more excited as 'Mashers Man' (as he'd apparently been dubbed), after insistent prodding by the grinning twins with wand and fork, began taking choppy, tottering steps, leaving a trail of gravy footprints behind. And even though she still felt a little bit set apart from everything, she still couldn't help a giggle as a hesitant Neville gave the Mashers Man a reluctant poke with his wand. But the greatest surprise was when it turned back around to face him, rudimentary mouth open, and shook a squishy fist menacingly. Neville, panicking, almost dropped the wand, causing it to involuntarily shoot out a stream of sickly yellow sparks. Potato bits went everywhere.

* * *

Ron woke up to find himself in a strange bed. A quick check around and it dawned on him that he was in the infirmary...and for some reason, his head ached something fierce. He couldn't really remember how it all happened; the best he could come up with after a few minutes of careful thinking was something about playing chess, with Harry and Hermione in some strange cave...but that couldn't be right, _could it_?

The room was dim with the oncoming twilight, enough so that Ron didn't spare a look around the room before hopping off the bed and pulling his socks on. This is how he failed to notice the owl waiting for him as he left the infirmary. On his way out, he almost decided to stop and pay a visit with Madam Pomfrey, who was sitting in her office, but from his stomach's growling, he realised he was about to miss dinner!

* * *

Hermione left the Great Hall early, leaving half of her dinner behind. She'd been splattered with mashed potatoes and gravy from when Neville had accidentally exploded that little monstrosity the Weasley twins had created. Of course he'd apologized profusely towards the whole table, but that didn't clean her robes now, did it? That sort of thing always frustrated her: boys never seemed to stop and consider the consequences of their actions.

She stepped over a couple of legs that seemed to accidentally stray out from under the Gryffindor house table, and did her best to ignore the snide comments as she passed by the others on the way out. But the words still stung, even as she tried her hardest to keep it from showing.

"I thought she was supposed to be the smart one..."

She couldn't help but notice Draco's smirking face at the farthest end of the Slytherin table, or the nasty little grin he sported while he waved over at her.

"Hey mudblood, if you're feeling a little too hard up, well, I suppose I can give you an offer I believe you might find very reasonable. I could be persuaded to part with a few house points for Gryffindor for...oh ...five Galleons apiece."

Hermione gritted her teeth and stomped her way past the jeering Slytherins, finally arriving at the girls' bathroom nearest the Hall.

* * *

She opened the tap and let the water heat up a little. A quick grab at a towel, and she wiped her face before beginning to dab away at the mashed potatoes on her hair and robes. But this only made things worse as the gravy smeared into the fabric. She gave a small groan of frustration and started scrubbing again.

"Oh my, Hermione, what happened to _you_?"

She heard a stall door swinging open over the running water, and gave herself a final splash in the basin before looking up at the mirror to seeing them standing behind her. She switched off the tap and turned around, but at seeing the expressions on their faces, felt herself flush slightly. Maybe, she thought, all the hot water had boiled her brain a little.

There was this imprecise sort of unawareness that came over her, and Hermione heard herself give an uncharacteristically vague answer to the question, involving the Weasley, boys in general, and exploding mashed potatoes...

Lavender seemed to be having trouble keeping a blank look on her face, and blinked heavily at Hermione, who was looking quite confused herself. "My...they sure work quickly..."

Parvati shot a look back at Lavender. "No, they didn't waste any time..."

She glanced from one girl back to the other, completely baffled. "Wait, what?"

"Seriously Hermione, you don't know? Everybody kind of..._hates_ you right now."

"Don't you have any idea how low our house point totals are? People are saying Gryffindor hasn't done this badly for hundreds of years!"

"Really, it's all anyone's been talking about since this morning."

"And you're probably going to get it really bad, at least until the boys show back up."

"So yeah..." Parvati started ticking the points off on her fingers. "Everybody in our house hates you right now, because Gryffindor ended up losing so many points...**again.** And then Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw aren't going to like you either, because we were their best hope of taking the House Cup away from Slytherin. And really, the only people that _are_going to appreciate you after this are Slytherins, which just isn't something I'd go around bragging about. So even though rumour has it that you've been assigned detention for the rest of the year, don't be surprised if most of the school goes out of their way to get revenge on you until the end of term."

"But really, try not to take it too personally; you're just their only target right now. ...And really, we shouldn't even be talking to you...so please don't tell anybody."

Parvati elbowed her friend. "Actually, we were planning to tell you earlier, but first you were asleep...and then later, there were people around...and you know how it is..."

"But we found you now, so...that's a plus, right?"

"Yeah, but I'm still confused with this whole exploding food thing? So what's with--?"

Hermione interrupted. "So now everybody..._hates_ me? But I was just trying to help! The boys needed my help, and that's what I was there for! I was -helping-!"

"But see you were still there, that's why everybody hates you. Because where are those boys now, when **you** need help?"

"Yeah, and this whole gravy situation is a perfect example. Helping people was what got you in trouble to begin with, but helping really only works if it actually...helps. After all, look what your helping did to Gryffindor!"

"Well anyway, we're late to dinner as it is, so it was nice chatting with you, Hermione, buuuut...we've got to go... bye!"

Lavender gave a cheery little wave as the two girls made their way out of the bathroom.

Hermione watched the door close behind them, and went back to the sink. "But what about me, I need help!"

She caught a glimpse of herself again in the mirror, and threw her hands up in frustration. "And I'm still covered in _gravy_!!"

* * *

Ron was starving! He was hoping he might have been able to show up in time for dinner, but once he had managed to make his way to the Great Hall, it was empty! He watched mouth open, as a single crumpled napkin fluttered past him and then disappeared with a small 'pop'. Ron sat down against the side wall of the Great Hall. He slumped over, put his head in his hands, and groaned. He couldn't believe he'd managed to miss dinner! He was pretty sure he hadn't missed a meal his entire year at Hogwarts, so why did it have to happen today?

A deep voice rumbled from behind him. "Lad, you seem distressed whatever has you so upset?"

Ron turned around to face a large painting framed with chipped scrollwork. Contained within was an enormously fat man in Edwardian clothing holding an overflowing horn-of-plenty.

He stood and faced the painting, only to realize a small audience had assembled. Nearby, other residents of paintings had become interested in him. "Well," he said, hoping that he seemed to be including everyone, "I've managed to miss dinner." Then he paused for effect. "And I'm really hungry, so I don't know what to do."

In one of the adjacent paintings, he heard the sound of a small dog yapping. "Shush, Gael." A pinch-faced woman in a Victorian-era gown pulled a pearled lorgnette from her bodice and peered out at him. "I can't believe," she began, huffily, "that a young boy would be sent away hungry from the kitchens of Hogwarts!" The dog began barking excitedly at her heels. "Back in my day," she blustered, "such a thing…."

"Now then, don't be too hasty," called over a trio of voices from another nearby painting. From the corner of his eye, Ron spied a trio of nuns riding a three-seated tandem bicycle. One of them waved and called out over at him "Young man, would I be correct if I guessed that you may not know where the kitchens are?"

"No, ma'am...ma'ams, I don't." Actually, he hadn't even thought about going there, not that he would have known how to get there even if he had.

"Harrumph! That won't do at all. **Everyone** needs to know where the kitchens are." The fat man licked his lips before pulling out a gaudy-looking purple fruit from the cornucopia with an elaborate flourish.

"Oh yes," continued the woman, who kept cosseting the lapdog. "It really shouldn't be that difficult. Although the castle is constantly rearranging itself, some things actually must stay the same, for safety's sake."

"It's the house-elves, you see," interrupted the fat man through bites of roast turkey leg. "They always got upset back in my day whenever Headmaster Demitra allowed the school to alter the layout of the kitchens." Here he tossed the leg bone behind him with a crash. He assumed a look of regret as he continued. "The meals would always taste funny for a few days afterwards. To think of all the marvelous Hogwarts dinners that I might have missed…"

"Orson," interjected the woman, "I'm hardly convinced you're suffering too badly from missing a few meals." The dog added an insulting little bark as punctuation.

"Drusilla, if you don't quiet up that dog…"

Ron sighed. This wasn't helping at all. He gave a hopeful glance over at the nuns' painting, but they had apparently already ridden out of the frame. He stood there, stomach rumbling, for a good five minutes while the man and woman nattered at each other from frame to frame, becoming more and more impatient. The yapping dog didn't help matters.

He finally decided to resort to pleading. "Please………….please! Mister…..uh…. and Miss……..bloody hell, I don't even care anymore! Just tell me where the kitchens are!"

Drusilla was the first to respond. "Young man, really! Students these days have no manners at all..."

"Oh Dru, give the boy a break. He's hungry."

"And you! All you think about is food, have you truly no other interests?"

Here Orson paused with half a roll hanging from his mouth. "Err… No, I don't think I do. Why would I? Food is fascinating; you can make so many different-"

"Yes, yes thank you once again for another rousing lecture on the wonders of eating."

"So, are you not going to tell me where the kitchens are? I'm still hungry you know," reminded Ron.

"Whatever gave you that idea? We're not heartless you know, oil and canvas aside."

"Oh yes, here's what you do, young man…"

And the argumentative duo proceeded to give the young Gryffindor surprisingly straightforward directions to find a painting of a giant fruit bowl …

* * *

Ten minutes later, a slightly damp Hermione entered the transfiguration room. McGonagall was sitting at her desk, grading some final few assignments before the end of term. She turned towards the doorway to note the girl's arrival. "Good evening Miss Granger; You're here early, I see."

She nodded quietly, and assumed her normal seat. She brushed a few errant strands of hair out of her face, and closed her eyes, trying to replay the events of the last 24 hours in her mind.

Professor McGonagall decided perhaps grading examinations could wait for a moment. She strode over to the table where Hermione was sitting, trying to read the emotions that were beginning to flicker on the girl's face. "Miss Granger… ...Hermione…"

She took that moment to burst out, "What was I **thinking**?"

"That is actually what I've been—"

Hermione continued, heedless of interrupting the professor. "I'm supposed to be the smart one! I've never broken any rules before! Then I come here, and everything is incredible, with magic wands and so many secrets to learn about…" She trailed off into a sob, the continued, between great gulping breaths, while McGonagall looked on. "I remember being so happy when I went into Ollivander's… but I was so scared the first time I picked up a wand……felt like a loon waving it around. But the first time I picked up a wand and it spit out sparks; that was really the best! Even if it did set the rug on fire, seeing that happen was the greatest thing ever, knowing it was all true…" She added softly, "You know, sometimes I still make it send out sparks…"

"That reminds me, the house-elves _ stil_l haven't replaced that singed tapestry in the dormitories," McGonagall mused.

"But things like that just aren't practical! And look what happens! I'm trying to be the best possible student, always being there with the answer, and look what happens? I get my first friends ever," Hermione blurted, not noticing the woman wince at that admission. "and do everything I can for them, and look at them now leaving me alone when I'm the one needing help!"

"Dear, the sooner you realize that you cannot rely on the male species, the happier you'll be."

"...and the House points! Everyone tells me that we lost all of our house points, and it's all my fault. It's not like it was my idea. Do you even know how bad the house points are? I—"

"I am regrettably quite aware of that fact," McGonagall replied, partially to herself. "It was brought to my attention… repeatedly… in a staff meeting… by Severus."

Hermione only vaguely registered the response. "I'm supposed to be the sensible one, I've always been perfect, and just don't understand it, but Harry, he comes up and says, Snape is trying to kill me, and he's evil. And I know how he's always greasy and growling and mean, but he's a professor! Professors wouldn't **do** something like that, it's just wrong! But it's hard to argue against, when they keep talking to me, and telling me what they think…..and do you know just how different it's been; simply how different things have been for me to even have some friends? "

"Miss Granger-," interjected Professor McGonagall, trying to get her attention.

"Before, nobody liked me. I know I've been a little bit of a know-it-all, but I thought I was getting better. But when did I have to learn… to…to go… against the rules? That's not me! Every single rule that's been put in front of me I've always followed…but when I think about everything that's happened, all I can think about is just that…it just isn't me."

* * *

Author's note:

So then, hello everyone. I know this is a chapter entirely without Harry. Sorry about that, and also for the delays, but sometimes that's just the way that things happen. About the delays, I blame exams, mostly. I really want to be able to keep up with a monthly schedule here, and I'm still going to try to stick to that. Didn't get anywhere near that this time, of course, and that's with splitting a chapter in half to give you this one!

Okay then. Hope I don't have it ending on a sad note for you guys; I think it's a good thing really, to have a greater focus this time on Hermione. With the Sorcerer's Stone encounter having never been a success, what would that mean to everyone? If Hermione's taken a chance on the whole event, with the basis of her friendship, and the result was a failure, what would that mean to her? It can't possibly easy times. I'm going to be exploring this, the effects on other characters, as well as the world at large, in the future.

As always, much thanks to GrasshopperKnight, as my beta and for dialogue help in this chapter. There's really nothing like having somebody else to back you up so that you're not the only one knowing what's going on!

Anyway, again sorry for ending this on a sad note, but maybe they aren't happy times. But don't worry, next chapter is bound to be interesting—we do get Neville again. Wonder what the twins have him up to? And, of course, don't forget about Harry...

As always, reviews and comments are greatly appreciated. I'll keep writing as long as anybody at all is still interested.


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